THE SLAVE-DRIVERS--A BID FOR FREEDOM
That morning, for the last time, had Jean and Maurice heard the gay
calls of the French bugles, and now they were marching along the
road to Germany among the drove of prisoners, which was preceded and
followed by platoons of Prussian soldiers, others of whom, with fixed
bayonets, kept a watch upon the captives on either hand. And now they
only heard the shrill, dismal notes of the German trumpets at each
guard-post that they passed.
Maurice was delighted to find that the column turned to the left, so
that it would evidently pass through Sedan. Perhaps he would be lucky
enough to catch a glimpse of his sister there. However, the three-mile
march from the peninsula of Iges to the town, sufficed to damp the
joy he felt at having emerged from that cesspool where he had been
agonising for nine long days. This pitiable convoy of prisoners, of
disarmed soldiers with hanging arms, led away like so many sheep, at a
hasty, timorous scamper, was but a fresh form of torture. Clad in rags,
soiled with the filth in which they had been abandoned, emaciated by
more than a week's privation, they now looked like so many vagabonds,
suspicious tramps picked up along the roads by some scouring party of
gendarmes. By the time they had reached the suburb of Torcy, where men
paused on the side-walks and women came to their doors to gaze at them
with an expression of gloomy compassion, Maurice already felt stifling,
and bowed his head, his mouth twitching with the bitterness of his
sensations.
Jean, however, endowed with a practical mind and a tougher skin,
thought only of their foolishness in neglecting to bring a couple of
loaves of bread away with them. In the wild haste of their departure
they had come away, indeed, with their stomachs empty, and hunger
was once again weakening their legs. Other captives must have been
similarly situated, for many of them held out money, begging the people
of Torcy to sell them something. One very tall fellow, who looked
extremely ill, waved a bit of gold, with his long arm raised over the
heads of the soldiers of the escort, and was in despair that he could
find nothing to buy. Just then Jean, who was watching, espied a dozen
loaves in a pile, outside a baker's shop, some little distance ahead.
Before any of the others he threw down a five-franc piece, intending
to take a couple of the loaves. Then, as one of the Prussian soldiers
brutally pushed him back, he obstinately made an effort to regain his
money. But the captain in charge of the column, a bald-headed little
man with a brutal face, was already rushing up. Raising his revolver
with the butt downward over Jean's head, he declared with an oath
that he would split the skull of the first man who dared to stir. And
thereupon they all bent their backs and lowered their eyes, continuing
their march with a subdued tramp, the quailing submissiveness of a
flock of sheep.
'Oh! how I should like to slap him,' muttered Maurice savagely, 'box
his ears, and smash his teeth with a back-hander.'
From that moment he could not bear to look at that captain, whose
scornful face he so desired to smack. They were now entering Sedan,
crossing the bridge over the Meuse, and not a moment passed without
some fresh scene of brutality. A woman, a mother doubtless, was
desirous of embracing a young sergeant, but was pushed back so
violently with the butt of a gun, that she fell to the ground. On the
Place Turenne some well-to-do townsfolk were belaboured because they
compassionately threw provisions to the prisoners. In the High Street
one of the captives, having slipped down in trying to take a bottle
of wine offered to him by a lady, was kicked to his feet again. And
although, during the last eight days, Sedan had frequently seen the
miserable herds of the defeat driven through its streets in this same
brutal fashion, it could not accustom itself to the spectacle, but at
each fresh _défilé_ was stirred by a fever of compassion and resentment.
Jean, who by this time had grown calm again, was, like Maurice,
thinking of Henriette; and, all at once, too, the idea that they might
see Delaherche occurred to him. He nudged his comrade and remarked:
'Keep your eyes open by-and-by if we pass down the street.'
And, indeed, as soon as they entered the Rue Maqua, they caught sight
of several heads peering forth from one of the monumental windows
of the factory, and as they drew nearer, they recognised Delaherche
and his wife Gilberte, with their elbows resting on the window bar,
whilst behind them stood Madame Delaherche senior, erect, with a stern
expression on her face. They all three had some loaves with them, and
these Delaherche flung to the famished captives who were holding up
trembling, imploring hands.
Maurice immediately noticed that his sister was not one of the party;
whilst Jean, on seeing so many loaves rain down, became all anxiety,
fearing that none would remain for them. He waved his arm frantically
and called: 'For us! For us!'
The Delaherches evinced an almost joyous surprise. Their faces, pale
with pity, immediately brightened, and gestures expressive of their
pleasure at the meeting escaped them. Gilberte herself wished to throw
the last loaf into Jean's arms, and did so in such a charmingly awkward
way that she could not restrain a pretty laugh at her own expense.
Unable to halt, Maurice turned his head, and with the greatest rapidity
called in an anxious, questioning tone: 'And Henriette? Henriette?'
Delaherche answered in a long phrase which was drowned by the tramping
of the men. He must have realised that the young fellow had not heard
him, for immediately afterwards he began making a variety of signs,
pointing especially towards the South. However, the column was already
entering the Rue du Ménil, and the factory façade was lost to sight,
together with the three heads protruding from the window, and a hand
which was waving a handkerchief.
'What did he say to you?' asked Jean.
Maurice, sorely worried, was still vainly looking behind him. 'I don't
know, I didn't understand--I shall be anxious now, as long as I don't
get some news.'
And meantime the tramping continued, the Prussians hastened the march
with the brutality of conquerors, and the wretched flock, stretched
into a narrow file, passed out of Sedan by the Ménil Gate, scampering
along like sheep in fear of the dogs.
As they passed through Bazeilles, Jean and Maurice bethought themselves
of Weiss, and looked for the ashes of the little house which had been
so valiantly defended. During their sojourn at the Camp of Misery some
comrades had told them of the devastation of the village, the fires and
the massacres, but the sight they beheld surpassed all the abomination
they had pictured. Although twelve days had now elapsed since the
disaster, the piles of ruins were still smoking. Many damaged walls had
fallen in, and in all this village of two thousand souls there were now
not ten houses standing. The captive soldiers were consoled somewhat,
however, on meeting numerous barrows and carts full of Bavarian
helmets and rifles, which had been picked up since the struggle. This
proof that a large number of these cut-throats and incendiaries had
been slain, in some measure relieved the prisoners' feelings.
They were to halt at Douzy, nominally for the purpose of breakfasting,
and did not get there without having suffered. Exhausted, indeed, by
their long fast, the captives were speedily fatigued. Those who had
gorged themselves with food on the previous day, became giddy and
heavy, and felt their legs sink beneath them; their gluttony, far
from restoring their lost strength, had, in fact, only weakened them
the more. And so, when the column halted in a meadow on the left of
the village of Douzy, the unfortunate fellows flung themselves on the
grass, lacking even the energy to eat. There was no wine, and some
charitable women who endeavoured to approach, bringing a few bottles,
were driven away by the sentries. One of them, badly frightened, fell
and sprained her ankle, and then there were cries and tears, quite a
revolting scene, whilst the Prussians, who had confiscated the bottles
of wine, proceeded to drink their contents. This tender compassion
of the peasants for the poor soldiers who were being led away into
captivity, was constantly manifested along the route; but on the other
hand they were said to display great harshness towards the general
officers. A few days previously the inhabitants of that very village of
Douzy had hissed a convoy of generals who were proceeding on parole to
Pont-à-Mousson. The roads were not safe for officers; men in blouses,
soldiers who had escaped the foe, or who had possibly deserted before
the fight, sprang upon them with pitchforks to massacre them, shouting
that they were cowards and had sold themselves; thus helping to ingraft
that legend of treachery which twenty years later still caused the
folks of these districts to speak with execration of all who were in
command during that disastrous campaign.
Seated on the grass, Maurice and Jean ate half of their loaf, and
were luckily able to wash it down with a drop of brandy, with which a
worthy farmer managed to fill a flask they had. Then the starting off
again proved a terrible business. They were to sleep at Mouzon, but
although the march was a short one, the effort they must needs make
appeared more than they could accomplish. They were unable to rise
without groaning, to such a point were their weary limbs stiffened by
the slightest rest. Several men whose feet were bleeding took off their
boots to be able to resume the march. Dysentery was still wreaking
havoc among them; they had gone but a thousand yards or so when a first
man fell and was pushed against the wayside bank. Farther on two others
sank down beside a hedge, and it was night before an old woman came
along and succoured them. Those who kept up were tottering, leaning
on sticks which the Prussians, possibly in a spirit of derision, had
allowed them to cut on the verge of a little wood. They had become a
mere band of beggars covered with sores, emaciated, and scarce able
to breathe. Yet their custodians continued treating them with great
brutality; those who stepped aside even to satisfy a want of nature
were whacked into the ranks again. The escort-platoon in the rear had
orders to drive on the laggards at the bayonet's point. A sergeant
having refused to go any farther, the captain commanded two of his
men to catch hold of him under the arms, and drag him along till he
consented to walk afresh. Especially were the captives tortured by that
bald-headed little officer, whose face they longed to slap, and who
abused his knowledge of French to insult them in their own language, in
curt galling phrases, as cutting as the lashes of a whip.
'Oh! how I should like to hold him,' Maurice passionately repeated,
'hold him, and drain him of all his blood, drop by drop.'
The young fellow could no longer endure it all; he suffered, however,
far more from the anger he was compelled to restrain than from physical
exhaustion. Everything exasperated him, even those jarring calls of the
Prussian trumpets at which, in his enervated condition, he could have
howled like a dog. He felt that he should be unable to accomplish this
cruel journey without getting his skull cracked. Even now in passing
through the smallest hamlets he experienced intense suffering at sight
of the women who looked at him with so deep an expression of pity. What
would it be then when they got to Germany, and the townsfolk scrambled
to see them, and greeted them, as they greeted the other prisoners,
with insulting laughter? He pictured the cattle-trucks in which they
would be heaped together, the nauseating abominations and tortures of
the road, the dreary life in the fortresses under the snow-laden sky of
winter. No, no! rather death at once, rather the risk of leaving his
skin at the turn of a road on the soil of France than rot over yonder,
in some black casemate, possibly for long months.
'Listen,' said he, in a low voice to Jean, who was walking beside him,
'we'll wait till we pass a wood, and then we'll jump aside and slip
between the trees. The Belgian frontier isn't far, we shall surely find
some one or other to guide us.'
Jean shuddered; despite the feeling of revolt which was making him also
dream of escape, he yet retained his calmer, more practical mind. 'You
are mad,' he said. 'They would fire on us, and we should both be shot.'
But there was a chance that they might not be hit, retorted Maurice;
besides, even supposing they were shot down, well, so much the better.
'But supposing we escaped,' continued Jean, 'what would become of us in
our uniforms? You can see very well that the country is covered with
Prussian pickets. It would, at any rate, be necessary to have some
other clothes. Yes, it's too dangerous, youngster. I can't let you do
anything so foolish.'
It became necessary that he should restrain the young fellow, and
whilst he strove to calm him with chiding but affectionate words, he
caught hold of his arm and pressed it closely to his side, so that
they appeared to be mutually supporting one another. They had taken
but a few steps, however, when some words exchanged in an undertone
behind them made them turn their heads. The whisperers were Chouteau
and Loubet, who had started from the peninsula that morning at the
same time as themselves, and whom they had hitherto avoided. The two
rascals were now at their heels, however, and Chouteau must have heard
what Maurice had said of trying to escape through a plantation, for he
adopted the idea on his own account. 'I say,' he muttered, craning his
head forward so that they felt his breath on their necks, 'we'll join
you. That idea of sloping's a capital one. Some of the comrades have
already gone off, and we certainly can't let ourselves be dragged like
so many dogs to the country where these pigs live. Is it agreed, eh?
Shall we four fellows take a breath of fresh air?'
Maurice was again growing feverish, and Jean turned round to say to the
tempter: 'Well, if you're in a hurry, you can go on in front. What do
you hope for?'
Under the corporal's searching gaze, Chouteau became disconcerted, and
imprudently let the cat out of the bag. 'Well! it would be easier if
there were four of us,' said he. 'One or two would always manage to get
off.'
Thereupon, with an energetic shake of the head, Jean altogether
declined taking part in the venture. He mistrusted Monsieur Chouteau,
said he, and feared some act of treachery. However, he had to exert all
his authority over Maurice to prevent the young fellow from yielding to
his desire, for just then an opportunity presented itself; they were
passing a very leafy little wood, which was merely separated from the
road by a field thickly dotted with bushes. To gallop across that field
and disappear in the thickets, would not that mean safety and freedom?
Loubet had so far said nothing. Firmly resolved, however, not to go and
moulder in Germany, he was sniffing the air with his restless nose,
and watching for the favourable moment with those sharp eyes of his,
like the crafty fellow he was. Doubtless he relied on his legs and his
artfulness, which had so far always helped him out of his scrapes. And
all at once he made up his mind. 'Ah! dash it! I've had enough. I'm
off.'
At one bound he had sprung into the neighbouring field, and Chouteau,
following his example, galloped off beside him. Two men of the escort
at once started in pursuit, without either of them thinking of stopping
the runaways with a bullet. It was all over so quickly that at the
first moment one could hardly understand what had happened. However,
it seemed as though Loubet, who had taken a zigzag course through the
bushes, would certainly escape, whereas Chouteau, who was less nimble,
already appeared on the point of being recaptured. But with a supreme
effort he all at once gained ground, and, on overtaking his comrade,
contrived to trip him up. And then, whilst the two Prussians were
springing upon the prostrate man to hold him down, the other bounded
into the wood and disappeared. A few shots were fired after him, the
escort suddenly remembering its needle-guns, and a _battue_ was even
attempted among the trees, but with no result.
Meanwhile the two German soldiers were belabouring the prostrate
Loubet. The captain had rushed to the spot, quite beside himself, and
shouted that an example must be made; at which encouragement the men
continued raining such savage kicks and blows with the butts of their
guns upon the recaptured prisoner, that, on being raised from the
ground, he was found to have his skull split and an arm broken. Before
they reached Mouzon he expired in the little cart of a peasant, who had
been willing to take him up.
'There, you see,' Jean contented himself with muttering in Maurice's
ear.
They both darted towards the impenetrable wood a glance which expressed
all their hatred of the bandit who was now galloping off in liberty;
and they ended by feeling full of pity for the poor devil, his victim;
a lickerish tooth, no doubt, not of much value certainly, but all the
same good company, full of expedients, and by no means a fool. Yet his
fate had shown that no matter how artful a man might be, he inevitably
found his master and came to grief at last.
In spite of this terrible lesson, however, Maurice, on reaching Mouzon,
was still haunted by that fixed idea of escaping. They were all so
frightfully weary on their arrival that the Prussians had to help them
pitch the few tents which were placed at their disposal. The camp was
formed near the town, on some low, marshy ground, and the worst was
that another column having occupied the same spot on the previous day,
it was covered with filth, to protect themselves from which the men had
to spread out a number of large flat stones, which they luckily found
in a heap, near by. The evening proved less trying, as the watchfulness
of the Prussians relaxed somewhat when their captain had gone off to
take up his quarters at an inn. The sentries began by letting some
children throw apples and pears to the prisoners, and at last even
allowed the inhabitants of the neighbourhood to enter the camp, so that
there was soon quite a little crowd of improvised hawkers there, men
and women, selling bread, wine, and even cigars. All those who had any
money ate, drank, and smoked, and in the pale twilight the scene was
like some corner of a village market, full of noisy animation.
Maurice, however, seated behind one of the tents, was growing more and
more excited, again and again saying to Jean: 'I cannot stand it any
longer. I shall bolt as soon as it is dark. To-morrow we shall be going
farther and farther away from the frontier, and it will then be too
late.'
'All right, we'll try it then,' at last replied Jean, unable to resist
the young fellow's entreaties any longer, and giving way, on his own
side, to this same haunting idea of escape. 'We shall soon see if we
leave our skins behind us.'
From that moment, however, he began scanning all the vendors around
him. Some comrades had procured blouses and pants, and it was rumoured
that some charitable folks of Mouzon had got together large stocks of
clothes in view of facilitating the escape of the captives. Jean's
attention was almost immediately attracted by a pretty girl, a tall
stag-eyed blonde of some sixteen summers, who had on her arm a basket,
in which three loaves of bread were to be seen. She did not call out
what she had for sale like the others did, but stepped along in a
hesitating way, with a smile which, although engaging, was somewhat
tinged with anxiety. Jean gazed steadily in her face, and at last
their eyes met, and for a moment commingled. Then the pretty girl
came forward, still smiling in her embarrassed way: 'Do you want some
bread?' she asked.
Jean did not answer, but questioned her with a wink. And as she nodded
her head in an affirmative way, he popped the question in a very low
voice: 'There are some clothes?'
'Yes, under the loaves,' she answered, thereupon making up her mind to
call out: 'Bread! bread! Who'll buy bread?'
When Maurice, however, wished to slip twenty francs into her hand,
she hastily withdrew it, and ran off, leaving them the basket. Still,
before she disappeared, they saw her turn round and dart on them the
tender, sympathetic laugh of her lovely eyes.
Although they had the basket they were still as perplexed as ever. They
had strayed from their tent, and were so bewildered that they could
not find it again. Where should they stow themselves away? How could
they change their clothes? It seemed to them that everyone was prying
into that basket, which Jean was carrying in such an awkward manner,
and could plainly detect what it contained. At last, however, they made
up their minds, and entered the first empty tent they came upon, where
in desperate haste each of them divested himself of his regimentals
and slipped on a pair of trousers and a blouse. They placed their
uniforms under the loaves in the basket and left the latter in the
tent. However, they had only found one cap among the garments provided,
and this Jean had compelled Maurice to put on. For his own part, he
was bareheaded, and, exaggerating the danger, he fancied himself lost.
So he was still lingering there, wondering how he could obtain any
headgear, when the idea suddenly came to him to buy the hat of a dirty
old man whom he saw selling cigars. 'Three sous apiece, Brussels
cigars, five sous a couple, Brussels cigars!'
There had been no customs' service on the frontier, since the battle of
Sedan, so that Belgian articles were flooding the country-side without
let or hindrance. The ragged old fellow had already realised a handsome
profit, but he nevertheless manifested exorbitant pretensions when he
understood why Jean wished to buy his hat, a greasy bit of felt with a
hole in the crown. A couple of five-franc pieces had to be handed him
before he would part with it, and even then he whimpered that he should
certainly catch cold.
Another idea, however, had just occurred to Jean, that of purchasing
the remainder of the old fellow's stock in trade, the three dozen
cigars or so which he was still hawking through the camp. And having
accomplished this, the corporal in his turn began walking about, with
the old hat drawn over his eyes, whilst in a drawling voice he called:
'Three sous a couple, three sous a couple, Brussels cigars!'
This meant salvation, and he signed to Maurice to walk on before him.
The young fellow, by great good fortune, had just picked up an umbrella
dropped or forgotten by one of the hawkers, and as a few drops of rain
were falling, he quietly opened it so that it might screen him whilst
passing the line of sentinels.
'Three sous a couple, three sous a couple, Brussels cigars!' cried
Jean, who in a few minutes had rid himself of his stock. The other
prisoners laughed and pressed around him; here at all events, said
they, was a reasonable dealer who didn't rob poor folks! Attracted too
by the cheapness of the cigars some of the Prussians even approached,
and Jean had to supply them. He manœuvred so as to pass the guarded
camp-line, and eventually sold his two last cigars to a big-bearded
Prussian sergeant, who did not speak a word of French.
'Don't walk so quick, dash it all!' he repeated as he walked on behind
Maurice; 'you'll get us caught if you do.'
Their legs were almost running away with them, and only a great effort
induced them to pause for a moment on reaching a crossway, where some
clusters of people were standing outside an inn. Some French gentlemen
were there, peaceably chatting with several German soldiers; and Jean
and Maurice pretended to listen and even ventured to say a few words
about the rain, which it seemed likely would fall heavily during the
night. Meantime, a fat gentleman, who was among the persons present,
looked at them so persistently that they trembled. As he ended,
however, by smiling in a good-natured way, they ventured to ask him in
an undertone: 'Is the road to Belgium guarded, sir?'
'Yes, but go through that wood and then bear to the left, across the
fields.'
When they found themselves in the wood, amid the deep, dark silence
of the motionless trees, when they could no longer hear a sound, when
nothing more stirred and they believed that they were really saved, a
feeling of extraordinary emotion threw them into one another's arms.
Maurice wept, sobbing violently, whilst tears slowly gathered in
Jean's eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Their nerves were relaxing
after their prolonged torments, they hopefully thought that perhaps
suffering would now take some compassion on them and torture them no
longer. And meantime they clasped each other closely in a distracted
embrace, fraught with the fraternity born of all that they had suffered
together; and the kiss that they exchanged seemed to them the most
loving, the most ardent of their life, a kiss such as they would never
receive from a woman, the kiss of immortal friendship exchanged in the
absolute certainty that their two hearts no longer formed but one, for
ever and ever more.
'Youngster,' resumed Jean in a trembling voice, when they had ceased
clasping one another, 'it's already a good deal to be here, but we are
not at the end of the job. We must take our bearings a little.'
Although he was not acquainted with this point of the frontier, Maurice
declared that they need only go on before them; and thereupon gliding
along, one behind the other, they stealthily made their way to the
verge of the plantations. Here they remembered the directions given
them by the obliging fat gentleman, and resolved to turn to the left
and cut across the stubble. But they almost at once came upon a road
edged with poplars, and perceived the watchfire of a Prussian picket
barring the way. A sentinel's bayonet glistened in the firelight; the
other men were chatting and finishing their evening meal. At this sight
Jean and Maurice at once retraced their steps and again plunged into
the wood, with the fear of being pursued. They fancied indeed they
could hear voices and footsteps behind them, and continued beating
about the thickets during more than an hour, losing all idea of the
directions they took, turning round and round, at times breaking into
a gallop like hares scampering under the bushes, and at others stopping
short and perspiring with anguish in front of some motionless oak trees
which they mistook for Prussians. And at last they once more debouched
into the road lined with poplars, at ten paces or so from the sentinel,
and near the other men who were now quietly warming themselves around
the watchfire.
'No luck!' growled Maurice, 'it's an enchanted wood.'
This time, however, they had been heard. They had broken a few twigs in
passing, and some stones were rolling away. And as, upon hearing the
sentinel's '_Wer da_?' they immediately took to their heels without
answering, the picket rushed to arms and fired in their direction,
riddling the thicket with bullets.
'Curse it!' swore Jean in a hollow voice, restraining a cry of pain.
The calf of his left leg had received a stinging blow, not unlike the
cut of a whip, but so violent that it had thrown him to the ground
against a tree.
'Are you hit?' asked Maurice anxiously.
'Yes, in the leg--it's done for.'
They both listened again, panting, with the fear of hearing the tumult
of pursuit at their heels. But no further shots were fired, and nothing
more stirred in the great quivering silence, which was falling around
them again. The Prussians evidently did not care to venture among the
trees. However, in trying to set himself erect Jean was hardly able to
restrain a groan. Maurice held him up, and asked:
'Can you walk?'
'I'm afraid not.' He, as a rule so calm, was now becoming enraged. He
clenched his fists, and felt inclined to hit himself: 'Ah! good Lord!
how fearfully unlucky to get one's leg damaged when there's so much
running to be done! I may just as well fling myself on a rubbish heap
at once! Go on by yourself.'
Maurice, however, contented himself with answering gaily: 'How silly
you are!'
He had taken his friend by the arm and was now helping him along, both
of them being eager to get away. By an heroic effort they had managed
to take a few steps, when they again halted, alarmed at seeing a house
in front of them, a little farm, so it seemed, on the verge of the
wood. There was no light in any of the windows, the yard-gate was
wide open, and the building looked black and empty. And when they had
mustered sufficient courage to enter the yard, they were astonished
to find a horse standing near the house, saddled and bridled, but with
nothing to show why or how it had come there. Perhaps its master would
soon return; perhaps he was lying behind some bush with his head split.
But whatever the truth was, they never learned it.
A new plan, however, had suddenly dawned on Maurice's mind and quite
inspirited him. 'Listen,' said he, 'the frontier is too far away;
and besides, we should really require a guide to reach it. But if we
went to Remilly now, to uncle Fouchard's, I'm sure that I could take
you there with my eyes shut, for I know all the lanes and by-ways. Is
it agreed, eh? I'll hoist you on to this horse, and we'll get uncle
Fouchard to take us in.'
Before starting, however, he wished to examine Jean's leg. There
were two holes in it, so that the bullet must have passed out again,
probably after fracturing the tibia. Fortunately, the hæmorrhage was
but slight, and Maurice contented himself with binding his handkerchief
tightly round the calf of the leg.
'Go on by yourself!' repeated Jean.
'Be quiet, you silly!'
When Jean was firmly perched on the saddle Maurice took hold of the
horse's bridle and they started off. It must now have been about eleven
o'clock, and he hoped to accomplish the journey in three hours, even
should he have to walk the horse the entire distance. But all at once
he relapsed into despair at thought of a difficulty which had not
previously occurred to him. How would they be able to cross over to the
left bank of the Meuse? The bridge at Mouzon must certainly be guarded.
At last he remembered that there was a ferry lower down at Villers, and
deciding to chance it, in the hope that they would at last meet with a
little luck, he directed his course towards that village through the
meadows and ploughed fields on the right bank. All went fairly well at
first; they merely had to avoid a cavalry patrol, which they escaped
by remaining motionless for a quarter of an hour or so, in the shadow
thrown by a wall. The only worry was that, the rain having begun to
fall again, walking became very difficult for Maurice, who had to
trudge through the heavy soil of the drenched fields, beside the horse,
which was fortunately a good-natured, docile animal. At Villers luck
did at first declare itself in their favour, for, although the hour was
late, the ferryman had but a few minutes before brought a Bavarian
officer across the river, and was able to take them aboard at once,
and land them on the opposite bank without difficulty. It was only at
the village of Villers that their terrible troubles began, for they
here narrowly missed falling into the clutches of the sentries who were
posted at intervals right along the road to Remilly. They, therefore,
again had to take to the fields and trust to the chances of the little
lanes and narrow pathways, which often were scarcely practicable.
Occasionally some trivial obstacle would compel them to take a most
circuitous course; still they contrived to make their way over ditches
and through hedges, and at times even forced a passage through some
thick plantation.
Seized with fever amid the drizzling rain, Jean had sunk across the
saddle in a semi-conscious state, clinging with both hands to the
horse's mane, whilst Maurice, who had slipped the reins round his right
arm, had to support his friend's legs in order to prevent him from
falling. Over more than a league of country, during nearly a couple
of hours, was this exhausting march kept up, amid incessant jolting
and slipping, both the horse and the men losing their balance again
and again, and almost toppling over together. They became a picture
of abject wretchedness; all three of them were covered with mud, the
animal's legs trembled, the man he carried lay upon him inert, like
a corpse that had just given up the ghost, whilst if the other man,
distracted and haggard, still managed to trudge along, it was solely
through an effort of his fraternal love. The dawn was breaking; it was
about five o'clock when they at last arrived at Remilly.
In the yard of his little farmhouse overlooking the village, near the
outlet of the defile of Haraucourt, old Fouchard was already loading
his cart with two sheep which he had slaughtered the previous day. The
sight of his nephew in so sorry a plight upset him to such a point
that after the first words of explanation he brutally exclaimed: 'Let
you stay here, you and your friend? To have a lot of worry with the
Prussians; no, no, indeed! I'd rather kick the bucket at once.'
All the same, he did not dare to prevent Prosper and Maurice from
taking Jean off the horse and laying him on the large table in the
living-room. The wounded man was still unconscious, and Silvine went to
fetch her own bolster and slipped it under his head. Meanwhile uncle
Fouchard continued growling, exasperated at seeing this fellow on his
table, which, said he, was by no means the proper place for him. And
he asked them why they did not at once take him to the ambulance, since
they were lucky enough to have an ambulance at Remilly, in the disused
school-house, which had once formed part of an old convent. It stood
near the church and contained a large and commodious gallery.
'Take him to the ambulance!' protested Maurice, in his turn, 'for the
Prussians to send him to Germany as soon as he's cured, since all the
wounded belong to them! Are you joking with me, uncle? I certainly
didn't bring him here to give him back to them.'
Things were getting unpleasant, and Fouchard talked of turning them out
of the house, when all at once Henriette's name was mentioned.
'Eh, what--what about Henriette?' asked the young man.
He ended by learning that his sister had been at Remilly since a couple
of days, having become so terribly depressed by her bereavement that
she now found life at Sedan, where she had lived so happily with her
husband, quite unbearable. A chance meeting with Dr. Dalichamp of
Raucourt, whom she knew, had induced her to come and stay in a little
room at Fouchard's, with a view of giving all her time to the wounded
at the neighbouring ambulance. This occupation, she said, would divert
her thoughts. She paid for her board, and was the source of many little
comforts at the farm, so that the old man looked on her with a kindly
eye. Everything was first-rate when he was making money.
'Oh, so my sister's here!' repeated Maurice. 'So that's what Monsieur
Delaherche meant by that wave of the arm which I couldn't understand.
Well, as she's here, it will all be easy. We shall stay.'
Thereupon, despite his fatigue, he himself resolved to go and fetch
her from the ambulance where she had spent the night, and his uncle
meantime grew the more angry because he could not take himself off
with his cart and his two sheep, to ply his calling as an itinerant
butcher through the surrounding villages, until this annoying affair
was settled.
When Maurice came back with Henriette, they surprised old Fouchard
carefully examining the horse which had carried Jean to the farm and
which Prosper had just led into the stable. The animal was no doubt
tired out, but it was a sturdy beast, and Fouchard liked the look of
it. Thereupon, Maurice told him with a laugh that he might keep it
if it pleased him, whilst Henriette drew him aside and explained that
Jean would pay for his lodging, and that she herself would take charge
of him and nurse him in the little room behind the cowhouse, where
certainly no Prussian would go to look for him. The old man remained
sullen, hardly believing as yet that he would derive any real profit
from the business; still, he ended by climbing into his cart and
driving off, leaving Henriette free to do as she pleased.
With the assistance of Silvine and Prosper, Henriette then got the room
ready, and had Jean carried to it and laid in a clean, comfortable bed.
Opening his eyes, the corporal looked round him, but seemed to see
nobody, and merely stammered a few incoherent words. Maurice was now
quite overwhelmed by the reaction following on his exhausting march;
however, whilst he was finishing a bit of meat and drinking a glass of
wine, Dr. Dalichamp came in, as was his custom every morning, prior to
visiting the ambulance; and, thereupon, the young fellow, anxious to
know what injury Jean had received, found strength enough to follow the
doctor and his sister to the bedside.
M. Dalichamp was a short man with a big round head. His hair and
fringe of beard were getting grey; his ruddy face, like the faces of
the peasants, with whom he mixed, had become hardened by his constant
life in the open air, for he was always on the road to alleviate
some suffering or other. His keen eyes, obstinate nose, and kindly
mouth told what his life had been--the life of a thoroughly worthy,
charitable man, inclined, at times, to be rather headstrong. He was
not, as a doctor, endowed with genius, but long practice had made him a
first-rate healer.
'I'm much afraid that amputation will be necessary,' he muttered, when
he had examined Jean, who was still dozing; whereupon Maurice and
Henriette were greatly grieved. However, the doctor added, 'Perhaps we
may manage to save that leg, but in that case he will need very careful
nursing, and it will be a long job. At present he is in such a state
of physical and moral prostration that the only thing is to let him
sleep. We'll see how he is to-morrow.' Then, having dressed the wound,
he interested himself in Maurice, whom he had formerly known as a lad.
'And you, my brave fellow, you would be better in bed than on that
chair,' he said.
The young man was gazing fixedly in front of him, with his eyes afar,
as though he did not hear. Fever was mounting to his brain in the
intoxication of his fatigue, an extraordinary nervous excitement, the
outcome of all the sufferings, all the disgusting experiences he had
passed through since the outset of the campaign. The sight of his
agonising friend, the consciousness of his own defeat, the idea that he
was unarmed, good for nothing, having nothing left him but his skin,
the thought that so many heroic efforts had merely resulted in such
misery--all filled him with a frantic longing to rebel against Destiny.
At last he spoke: 'No, no! it is not finished yet! No, indeed! I must
go away. Since he must lie there now for weeks and perhaps for months,
I cannot stay. I must go away at once. You will help me, doctor, won't
you? You'll find me some means of escaping and getting back to Paris?'
Henriette, who was trembling, caught him in her arms. 'What is that you
say? Weak as you are, after suffering so dreadfully? But I mean to keep
you--I will not let you go! Haven't you paid your debt to France? Think
of me a little--think that I should be all alone, and that now I have
only you left me!'
Their tears mingled. They embraced distractedly, with that tender
adoring affection which unites twins more closely than others, as
though it originated prior even to birth. Far from becoming calmer,
however, Maurice grew still more excited. 'I assure you that I _must_
go!' he stammered. 'They are waiting for me. I should die of anguish if
I did not go! You cannot imagine how my brain boils at the thought of
remaining here in peace and quietness. I tell you that it cannot end
like this--that we must avenge ourselves--on whom or what I know not,
but, at any rate, obtain vengeance for so many misfortunes, so that we
may yet have the courage to live!'
Dr. Dalichamp, who had been watching the scene with keen interest, made
Henriette a sign not to answer. Maurice would no doubt be calmer when
he had slept; and he slept indeed all through that day and through
the following night--in all more than twenty hours--without moving a
finger. However, when he awoke the next morning, his resolution to
go away came back, unshakeable. His fever had subsided, but he was
gloomy, restless, eager to escape from all the tempting inducements to
a quiet life that he divined around him. His tearful sister realised
that it would be useless to insist. And Dr. Dalichamp, when he came
that day, promised to facilitate his flight by means of the papers of
an ambulance assistant, who had recently died at Raucourt: Maurice was
to don the grey blouse with the red-cross badge, and go off through
Belgium to make his way back to Paris, which was still open.
He did not leave the farm all that day, but hid himself there, waiting
for the night. He scarcely opened his mouth, and then only to ascertain
if he could induce Prosper to go away with him. 'Aren't you tempted to
go and see the Prussians again?' he asked.
The ex-Chasseur d'Afrique, who was finishing some bread and cheese, set
his fist on the table with his knife upraised.
'Well, for what we saw of them it's hardly worth while,' he answered.
'Since cavalrymen are nowadays good for nothing except to get
themselves killed when it's all over, why should I go back? 'Pon my
word, no, they disgusted me too much in not giving me any decent work.'
There was a pause, and then he resumed, doubtless in order to silence
the voice of his soldier's heart: 'Besides, there's too much work to
be done here, now. The ploughing is just coming on, later on there'll
be the sowing. We must think of the soil, too, eh? It's all very well
to fight, but what would become of us if we didn't plough? You will
understand very well that I can't turn the work up. Not that old
Fouchard's a good master, for I don't expect I shall ever see any of
his brass, but the horses are beginning to know and like me, and this
morning, 'pon my word, whilst I was up yonder in the old enclosure, I
looked down on that cursed Sedan, and felt quite comforted at finding
myself with my horses, driving my plough all alone, in the sunshine.'
Dr. Dalichamp arrived in his gig at nightfall. He wished to drive
Maurice to the frontier himself. Old Fouchard, delighted to find that,
at any rate, one of the men was taking himself off, went to watch on
the road, so as to make sure that no patrol was lurking there; whilst
Silvine repaired some rents in the old ambulance blouse with the
red-cross badge. Before starting, the doctor again examined Jean's
leg, and as yet he could not promise to save it. The wounded man was
still in a somnolent state, recognising nobody, and not saying a word.
And thus it seemed as though Maurice must go off without exchanging a
farewell with his comrade. On leaning forward to embrace him, however,
he suddenly saw him open his eyes, and move his lips. 'You are going?'
asked Jean in a weak voice, adding, as the others expressed their
astonishment: 'Oh! I heard you very well, though I couldn't stir. But
since you are going, old man, take all the money with you. It's in my
trousers' pocket.'
Each of them now had about a couple of hundred francs left of the
treasury money, which they had shared together. 'The money!' exclaimed
Maurice; 'but you need it more than I do. My legs are all right! With
a couple of hundred francs I've ample to take me to Paris and get my
skull cracked, which, by the way, won't cost me anything. Well, all the
same, till we meet again, old man, and thanks for all your kindness and
good counsel, for, if it hadn't been for you, I should certainly be
lying at the edge of some field like a dead dog.'
Jean silenced him with a gesture. 'You don't owe me anything--we are
quits,' said he; 'the Prussians would have picked _me_ up over there,
if you hadn't carried me away on your back. And again, the other day,
too, you saved me from their clutches. That's twice you've paid me, and
it's rather my turn to risk my life for _you_. Ah! I shall be anxious
now at not having you with me any longer.' His voice was trembling, and
tears started from his eyes: 'Kiss me, youngster.'
And they kissed; and, as it had been in the wood on the night of their
escape, their embrace was instinct with the fraternity born of the
dangers that they had incurred together, during those few weeks of
heroic life in common, which had united them far more closely than
years of ordinary friendship could have done. The days of starvation,
the sleepless nights, the excessive fatigues, the constant peril of
death--with all of these was their emotion fraught. Can two hearts
ever take themselves back when by a mutual gift they have thus been
blended together? Nevertheless, the kiss which they had exchanged
amid the darkness of the trees had partaken of the new hope that
flight had opened to them; whereas this kiss, now, quivered with the
anguish of parting. Would they meet again, some day? And how--in what
circumstances of grief or joy?
Dr. Dalichamp, who had climbed into his gig again, was already calling
Maurice. Then, with all his soul, the young fellow at last embraced
his sister, Henriette, who, extremely pale in the black garments of
her widowhood, was looking at him and silently weeping. 'I confide my
brother to you,' said he; 'take good care of him, and love him, as I
love him myself!'